Marilyn Pappano - My Secret Valentine

She hadn’t actually delivered the news to him herself, a sly voice reminded her. She’d left the message on his answering machine—the only way she could make contact, since he’d refused to take or return her calls. When he’d never responded, she had assumed that he’d gotten the message and just didn’t give a damn about the baby. It had been so easy to think when he’d made it abundantly clear that he didn’t give a damn about her.

But what if he hadn’t gotten it? An accidental erasure, a tape malfunction, hitting the wrong button by mistake… Oh, God, what if he’d never known?

Her palms damp, her stomach queasy, Fiona turned away from the bed and walked to the window, where she lifted one corner of the shade. The sun was setting, turning the western horizon shades of pink and purple, and darkness was quickly settling in. Already the streetlights were on, and as she watched, lights flickered on in nearby houses. She raised the shade, then folded her arms across her chest as she stared out. “I thought you were leaving this afternoon.”

“That was my plan, before this happened.”

“There’s an ATF office in Denver.” Six years ago he had talked about trying to get a transfer there. Obviously that plan had changed, too. “Surely they can handle this.”

“They could, but it’s my case.” His voice was closer, though she hadn’t heard him move. She felt, then saw his approach from the corner of her eye as he passed, then turned to lean against the windowsill. With his hands in his pockets and his ankles crossed, he looked more relaxed than he had a right to be. It was an illusion, though. There was tension in his jaw, in his eyes.

So much about him was an illusion.

“You can do that?” she asked as if she cared. “Claim a case as your own just because you have the dumb luck to be around when it happens?”

“No. Denver has jurisdiction, but they agreed to let me work it.”

Wonderful. So he’d be in town longer than she’d planned. How much longer? she wanted to ask. How long would she have to cope with the fact that he was living right next door? To know that every time she left her house, she risked running into him? How long would she have to tell him the truth…or do her damnedest to hide it?

“So…about those questions… Who is Katy’s father, and why didn’t you marry him?”

“I don’t see how either of them matters.”

“This is a federal crime, Fiona, and unfortunately, Katy is the victim. I need identifying information on her.”

“She’s the only Kathleen Hope Lake in all of Grand Springs, and I’m the only Fiona Lake. You have our address. I’ll give you our phone number and her social security number. I’ll even show you the scar on her leg where she slid into home plate last summer. That’s more than enough to identify her. As for why I didn’t marry her father—” How could that possibly have any bearing? But what was the alternative? That he was asking out of personal interest? Equally impossible. His personal interest in her hadn’t even survived the trip back to Washington. It certainly hadn’t survived the six years since. “He didn’t want to be married—didn’t want to be a father.” Maybe. Unless he truly hadn’t known.

Forcing a chilly note into her voice, she asked, “Any other questions?”

He looked as if he didn’t want to back down, but after a long, still moment, he shook his head. “Not at this time.” He pushed away from the window, then stopped right beside her. “I’ll be in touch,” he said quietly.

“I hope not.”

His smile was thin and thoroughly unamused. “I’m sure you do.”

She watched him leave, then returned to Katy’s bedside. Emotion tightened her chest and dampened her eyes as she gazed at her. Her daughter was the best, most wonderful thing to ever happen to her. She couldn’t imagine life without her—couldn’t imagine having a child somewhere and not knowing it, not being given the chance to love him or her.

So did Justin deserve to know about Katy? Would it make any difference? Would it turn him into father material, or would he walk away from her, the way he’d walked away from her mother? Would he want to spend time with her, be a part of her life, or would he reject her the way his parents had rejected him?

What if, God help her, he decided he wanted custody? Katy had never been away from Fiona for more than a night, and even then she hadn’t gone farther than her grandparents’ or a friend’s house. Could Fiona bear to send her halfway across the country? To not be able to kiss her and tuck her into bed, to not be there in case she woke up in the night or got sick or scared? Could she trust the most important treasure in her life to the care of a man who’d already shown his lack of trustworthiness?

She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Katy was her daughter. Simply providing the sperm didn’t make a man a father, and that was all Justin had done. It wasn’t an act that should be rewarded now with the privilege of having Katy in his life.

But what if that was all he’d done because he hadn’t known? What if he would have been as thrilled with the prospect of parenthood as she’d been—if he would have loved Katy dearly from the moment he’d learned of her existence?

Hiding her face in her hands, she groaned aloud. She wanted to be fair to Katy, to herself—even, reluctantly, to Justin. All her life she’d made a point of doing the right thing…but she’d never faced a decision in which the right choice could cost her dearly. Not only might she bring this man, who’d broken her heart, back into her life, but she could conceivably lose her daughter. If he was angry or felt cheated, he could make her life—and Katy’s—miserable.

She groaned again, then gave a start when a voice came from the shadows near the door. “Is that shorthand for I’m tired, This day has been too much, Idiots shouldn’t be allowed blasting caps, or a prelude to tears?” Steve Wilson, surgeon and husband to one of her best friends, came into the light, carrying Katy’s chart. He laid it on the bedside table, then enveloped Fiona in a hug. “How’re you doing?”

It had been the worst thirty-six hours of her life, but she kept that answer to herself. “I’m tired. This day has been too much. Idiots with blasting caps should be locked away forever.” She smiled wanly. “No tears.” Not yet, at least.

“How’s Katy?”

“Sleeping peacefully.”

“Rest is the best thing for her. It’s best for you, too. It’s not the most comfortable bed in the world, but that chair in the corner reclines, and you can get a blanket and a pillow from the nurses’ station. Have you had anything to eat?”

“I’m not hungry.”

He gave her a critical look, then said, “I’ll have them bring you a tray when they serve dinner. You’ve got to keep your strength up. Katy’s going to be pretty clingy the next few days. You’ll need all your energy and then some.”

Remembering the way she’d hung on to Justin that morning, and then the strength with which she’d grabbed hold of her, Fiona nodded. “Other than that, she’ll be all right, won’t she?” she asked, hearing the pleading in her voice and not the least bit ashamed of it.

“As far as we can tell. She might overreact to loud noises, have a few bad dreams, be afraid to leave your side, or she might bounce right back. You never know with kids. However she reacts, you’ll have plenty of help dealing with it. You won’t even have to ask.”

With a grateful nod, she rested her head on his shoulder as her gaze was drawn back to Katy. She’d practically forgotten what it was like to have a shoulder to lean on, to feel a man’s arm around her, to feel safe and secure in the way only a man could make a woman feel. The feminist in her rebelled at the thought—she’d been perfectly happy, safe and secure the last six years without a man—but the realist admitted it was true.